Ohne Dich
by daiyaonna
Summary: They were Schwarz. One man with a purpose, another with an unwavering devotion. The opposite of love isn’t hate. It’s indifference. Brad x Schuldig
1. To Be Black

Disclaimer: As much as I wish it, I do not own anything. Please give credit where it's due.

Author's Note: My first _epic_ Weiß Kreuz fic. Please be gentle, and enjoy! Many thanks to Hota for beta-ing. Dedicated with much love to Maja!

Translation: Ohne Dich means "without you"

_The opposite of love isn't hate. It's indifference._

* * *

**Ohne Dich**

_To Be Black_

* * *

He paces.

I watch him from my perch on his bed, untangling my hair in slight boredom. He's been doing it for a while now, and frankly, I am sick of following him around the room. It's giving me a headache, and I really want a cigarette.

Damn nicotine addiction.

Of course, I would smoke if I were me, too. The life we live isn't pretty, and…ugh, neither is this mess of stuff I call hair. I tug at it, trying to remove my hand from The Thing, and my movements eventually draw Brad's attention. There's a slight flux in the shields around his mind, and I realize that he is…amused.

Brad Crawford amused?

Hah!

"Like something you see?" I ask, tilting my head to the side and pouting slightly, my fingers still woven into my knotted hair. It's no secret I want this man, even though he is something beyond my reach, but the attraction is heavily one-sided. He shows no interest whatsoever, but I go after him every chance I get.

It's definitely one of the better job perks.

A small smile forms on his face, and I blink in surprise. This is...unusual.

Eventually, he speaks.

"Not really," he answers, touching a hand to his forehead. "I had Seen this, but it hadn't been as...funny." I glare at him, ripping my fingers away, along with several strands of hair, to throw a pillow at him. He easily steps to the side to avoid it.

"Damn you," I curse, angry at him and the fact that I've just pulled out hair. "You'll always be a bastard, won't you!"

"You seem to think so." He resituates his glasses. "I suppose that means I will, then."

"You're fucking right you will. Fuck you." I don't know why he's pissing me off more than usual, but he is, and I don't like it.

He merely shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, making him look damn sexy.

Damn.

I stand and make a mad dash for the door, trying to avoid any other confrontations that may evolve out of this, but he's faster. He grabs my wrist, forcing me to stop, and I almost smack into the wall at the suddenness of his action. I attempt to glare, again, but falter when he looks at me with those eyes.

Liquid caramel. I could eat them…

"Take care not to step in the puddle, Schuldig." My eyebrow twitches, but I ignore him and twist free of his grasp.

Being a pre-cog must suck ass. Heh.

I amuse myself.

"I'm going out," I tell him, waving my hand in a nonchalant manner even as I wrestle with the doorknob. It works, and I'm out of his room like lightning, unable to stand the sight of his handsome face and _gaijin_ expressions. He is one game I will not pursue for…certain reasons. He's hot. He's cold. And, sometimes, he makes me think he has no emotions at all. I know better than that. Well, maybe. Brad Crawford is _married_ to his work and doesn't have time to pay attention to poor, little me. Schuldig…

I wince at the name.

Maybe I'll change it. It's not actually my real name, anyway, and it's not like anyone here or in Rosenkruz gives a flying fuck. Maybe 'nothing' will sound better than 'guilty.' Or 'smart ass German who doesn't give a damn.' It has a certain ring to it, I must admit, but I doubt it translates into something simpler.

I don't do complicated, but right now, at this very moment, it's as fucking complicated as it gets.

"Thinking?" a rather soft, almost creepy voice asks, drawing my attention away from my own thoughts and into the thoughts of a martyr.

_Statues bleed from their eyes, and death is…_

I shake my head. It's a bad, bad idea to allow myself the liberty of frolicking freely in Farfarello's mind. I'd probably lose myself and go crazy. Well, crazier than I already am.

"Not really. Crawford's being Crawford…again. You know how it is," I answer, desperately itching to leave the apartment. And, I _still_ need a cigarette!

"Trying to shackle your wings more than they already are?" I purposely ignore him and grab one of the several jackets hanging on a rack by the door. I throw it on and leave the apartment, irraitated by the fuzzy remnants trailing from the Irishman's mind. Scratch that.

Being a telepath sucks ass more.

I know more about telepathy, anyway. Precognition is _not_ my area of expertise and never will be. I merely assume because I've seen, first hand, what it does to people who possess it. Not that I care. Being telepathic gives me reason to be sarcastic and snitty. Besides, it's part of my personality. Aren't I lovely?

I'm never alone in my head, either. Sometimes, I end up losing myself days at a time, searching for something…which results in nothing more than a huge headache. The voices never leave. I can only smother them until they're a faint buzz in my ears, and that's what it's like now.

Tokyo, Japan.

The most crowded, goddamn city I could ever hope to find myself in. We've been stationed here for almost a week, and I still don't like it. I won't get used to it, either. Besides, I don't even have anything to do, and it's literally hotter than Hell. Japanese summers are…horrible. Germans don't take heat well. _I_ don't take heat well.

When I step outside after a boring and drull elevator ride, I immediately wish I had tied my hair back. The Thing is already chaotic and messy, sticking up everywhere from where I'd played with it, but the swelter sends it flat and glued to my skull. It's like fire soup or something. Nasty, nasty, Schuldig.

Grateful that I have my sunglasses, I slide them out of my pocket and onto my face, hiding sensitive blue eyes. Sometimes, I wonder why I wasn't born with darker eyes. Forget that I'm a redhead. Light hurts, and it's particularly bright today. Would I look werid if I had brown eyes…like Brad?

Brad's eyes…

Mmm. Now, that's orgasm right there. I love how they're gold and shadowed and…

I suddenly laugh, very loudly and audibly, and an older woman sweeping the sidewalk in front of a shop across the street glances up, completely startled. I quickly correct the mistake, using my gift to erase the memory of her ever seeing or hearing me. Because my telepathy is incredibly advanced, it's easy to move through people and never be remembered.

I like it that way, and so does oh-so-fearless leader.

Fuck.

I wipe at the sweat trickling down my neck and glower as I continue to walk.

I don't want to think about _him_. I left to get away from _him_, but…

For some reason, I can't help it. He's the kind of person that isn't easily forgotten, especially when I can read minds and know nothing, absolutely nothing, about him. Fucking arrogant bastard. His shields are impossible to penetrate, but once, just once, I'd like to taste his mind, see what he sees, know what he knows…good or bad.

Just once.

I snort at my irrelevant thinking. He will never open up to me. And why would he? I'm the Slut of Schwarz, not so easily trusted. I would sleep with Farfarello given the right incentives. Hell, we've already had some pretty crazy times, but as much as I play around, there's only one person I _really_ want…even though I can't have him.

"Fuck you and your inhibitions, Crawford," I mouth quietly, dancing around a couple as they pass me by.

I hate him. I really do.

And voices are churning in my brain again, amplified because of the uncontrolled emotion running through me. I try to block them out, ignore them with the help of years of practice, but they don't leave, and I can hear everything.

Worries…

Fears…

Lusts…

It's speeding into my head with the force of a freight train, and my brain throbs. I think I'm going to…explode.

I gasp for air like I'm drowning. I might as well be. They're sucking me in because I'm losing control and can't hide behind the safety of my mental barriers, and…and…

I run for the nearest exit, feeling ready to vomit, but being in the middle of a giant city with no where to go…

I eventually end up in a somewhat darkened alley, crouching low and cupping my head with still-convulsing fingers.

God dammit, it hurts!

The coolness of the brick at my back seems to help, and now that I'm concentrating solely on the noises, they slowly subside into the familiar buzz I know. It still stings, but the restraints are back, holding the tsunami at bay.

Breathe, Schuldig, breathe.

I want to smack myself the moment I can think again. I get worked up over nothing and this is what happens. My life is one giant headache with the occasional pain in the ass to follow.

Lovely.

Taking off the sunglasses, as they are no use to me in this dank back street, I glance around. A trashcan is tipped over just inches away, garbage littering the ground, and the smell gets to me, my forehead throbbing with each intake of contaminated air. Humans are stupid, primordial creatures, and I hate them. They're disgusting, and it makes me sick to think I'm even remotely _like_ any one of them.

Pft.

I wish I could stop thinking all together. That would be heaven.

My hand pushes against the asphalt to help keep me balanced as I try to stand, ready, once again, to face the world, but the instant something frighteningly cold and wet seeps around my fingers, I pull back, half-falling onto my side. It's sticky and…

I look at it. Black? No. It's…

It's red.

My mind malfunctions the moment I glance down and slightly to the right, my throat refusing to swallow. A waif of a body is lying there, curled delicately in the fetal position, and…and…

A hand flies to my mouth to stop me from losing what little was in my stomach. There's a burning flash of some distant memory raping across my brain, and I stagger to my feet as quickly as I can, wanting to get away.

Don't be sick. Don't be sick.

An impossibly sharp tug on my hair sends me flying backwards, and my arms are instantly around my head, protecting my face from the other assaults to follow. Nothing comes after a while, and I mutter a curse, sitting up and groaning at the dampness soaking into my pants.

"Eww." I don't even realize I've spoken until I hear a muffled reply from somewhere close by. At least, it sounds like a reply. I don't know. There's a body and…

Holy fuck!

It's moving.

Tentatively, I reach out with my telepathy, almost afraid of what I might find. Then, I laugh. Afraid? Me? Yeah, right.

My mental touch is lightly pushed away, and I'm instantly awake, thoughts running in a chaotic jumble _everywhere_.

Body.

There's a body, and it…it has…shields?

Shields?

Body.

Blood?

This isn't making sense to me. None of it.

A body?

Yes, Schuldig. There's a body. I've obviously got that down clearly, perfectly even, but nothing else is remotely familiar. I have no idea what I'm-

"_Take care not to step in the puddle…"_

Brad's words slam into my head, repeating over and over. Was this what he…meant? But step? Hell, I almost _sat_ in it, but what does that have to do with-

Then, it hits me.

Dammit, Brad, you scheming son of a bitch. Couldn't you have told me in simple, easy-for-Schuldig-to-understand terms? Couldn't you have…

I grit my teeth in frustration. I see how it is. Send the stupid one on the important errand and fill him in later.

Fuck you, again, Brad Crawford.

God dammit!

I glance back at the body, almost sad, but…not quite.

Our Fourth.

Fuck.

**End **_To Be Black_

* * *

Please Review! 


	2. Young Blue Eyes

Disclaimer: As much as I wish it, I do not own anything. Please give credit where it's due. 

Author's Note: My first _epic_ Weiß Kreuz fic. Please be gentle, and enjoy! Dedicated with much love to Maja!

Note: Not beta-ed. Please ignore the mistakes.

_The opposite of love isn't hate. It's indifference._

* * *

_**Ohne Dich**_

_Young Blue Eyes_

I take a breath before moving, and I realize my chest hurts. I can't tell if it's from excitement or the miniscule amount of fear I'm feeling. It doesn't matter, really. I'm just curious.

I get to my feet with relative ease this time, and I think The Body knows I'm not going to leave…like before. I glance at it. It's barely breathing, obviously having difficulty from losing too much blood, and I creep slowly toward it, wincing at the wet, squishy feeling of my pants. They're ruined. Damn.

Careful not to leave any more evidence of my existence than I've already done, I kneel beside it, inspecting it over. I still can't tell if it's a boy or girl, but it's…young. Very young.

_Are you sure about this one, Brad?_ I ask my invisible partner, trying to imagine what he would say. He's been wrong before, but only…once. A bad, _bad_ memory for all of Schwarz, especially me. But that's another story for another time. Right now…

There's a gasping breath, a little wheezy, and I drag my eyes to the face of -hopefully- our Fourth. Partially open eyes are staring at me, the flesh beneath them bruised, its cheeks fragile, thin. Its hair is a grimy mess across its pale forehead, and I reach out with a hand, wanting to touch. Fingers brush smooth, dirty skin and slide down to cup its jaw.

"_G-gaijin_." Those cracked lips barely move to roll out the word with a thick tongue, and I choke in surprise.

It's awake?

"Schuldig," I correct, pulling my hand away and glancing around. I don't see anyone, but that means nothing. The voices are still there, loud and obnoxious, and I have to get The Body back. Oracle is probably waiting for me. Either that or laughing his ass off. Maybe both. Brad has a _wonderful_ sense of humor. Yeah, right.

"W-wha-" I silence The Body as best I can as I lift it into my arms, giving another quick look around before moving out into the throng of people wandering down the sidewalk.

It's feather-light and paper-thin. I can't help wincing at the feel of delicate bone beneath the rag its wearing, and I walk faster, unsure how well the mist I've wrapped around the minds of those around me will work. I know we would appear completely out of place if it failed. An orange-haired _gaijin_ carrying a limp body dressed only to cover the essentials wouldn't go over well. The Japanese are fickle, I suppose. That and Brad would be pretty pissed if he figures out what had happened.

I'm not that great. Really. I make mistakes, but that's not good enough when it comes to _him_. Nothing **ever** is.

I make it back to the apartment complex in record time, rocking on my feet, impatient as I ride the elevator up. The Body has yet to show any more signs of life, and I think for a brief moment that it might be dead, that I might have been too late. Its foot accidentally collides with the side of the elevator when I step out, and its whimper lets me know otherwise.

Oops.

Not wanting to be seen, I take a quick peek over both shoulders and dash towards the apartment door. As if by magic, it opens, and I slip inside, trying to conceal the aggravation I feel when I realize who's let me in.

_Bastard_, I send at him, knowing very well that he can hear me, but he ignores it and points at the couch.

"Put him there." His words are short, punctuated simply, and I can't help blinking at him.

So, it's a boy? Fucking wonderful.

I sigh and do as he says. It's better not to argue. Besides, I really don't want to suffer from a bruised face or a split lip. Brad's picky and gets just a little too testy when someone who isn't officially part of the team enters the apartment, and if I disobey now, he wouldn't hesitate to correct my mistake. Apparently, it doesn't matter that The Body is half-conscious of where it is.

Er…scratch that. Where _he_'s at. I must have temporary amnesia or something. Heh.

"I don't find this funny, Schuldig," he snaps, making me realize I must have laughed. Another strike for me. Dammit.

He comes to stand behind me after a moment. I feel the heat from his body and want to lean against him, have him wrap his arms around me, but…now is hardly the time. I don't think he would even appreciate the comment.

"Well, excuse me!" I retort, crossing my arms and turning my nose up at him. "You weren't the one who almost sat on him, were you?"

"Enough." Brad pushes me out of the way and kneels beside the boy, reaching for his wrist to feel for a pulse. The silence is heavy, and I find it odd that I can't hear Farfarello. I wonder-

"Stop projecting and get the kit from the bathroom," the American orders, carefully touching our Fourth in a methodical manner. He's probably judging the damage done to him. He's in pretty bad shape, now that I think about it, and…

I look down and find a dark puddle staining the carpet from the runoff collected in my clothes. I wager there's a puddle beneath the boy, too.

And it's blood.

Great. Looks like I'll be scrubbing that _and_ the floor.

"Schuldig!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm getting to it, your majesty," I sneer, turning and stalking out of the room. There's a sudden scream, cold, agonizing, and I freeze, my blood icing over.

What the-

Another sharp cry brings me back to my senses, and I sprint into the other room. Brad hasn't moved. Not that he would have. There's a perplexed expression on his face, though, and I arch an eyebrow.

"Stay with him. _I'll_ get the kit," he says after a moment, wasting no time to get to his feet and leaving. I wonder why he wants me to be here. Brad's much more adept at things like this than I am. In fact, it's Brad who takes care of the team if we're injured on a mission. I've developed this fear of red-soaked bandages, splints, and random stitches. Something to do with the fact I've had far too many to be considered safe.

"P-plea…se…" The choked word draws my attention to the pale face of the youth on the couch, his body so light it doesn't sink into the cushions. Poor thing.

I jerk back as if just having touched something hot. Poor thing? What the hell am I thinking? Sympathy is not part of the Schuldig Code. It never has been and never **will** be.

Fuck.

"Please d-don't…" He attempts to sit up but cringes as pain flares around his brain and falls into his previous position. I shake my head, willing my shields into place as I crouch beside him.

I won't be any help to anyone if I succumb to the urge to take a swim in his head.

_Bad idea, Schu. Brad won't waste any time punishing you, then_, I berate myself, focusing on our scrawny Fourth. When he gets better, we'll have to feed him. A lot. Being skinny is one thing -I'm slim, as is Brad and Farfarello- but this? This is just…unreal.

God dammit. Again with the sympathy thing. What. The. Hell.

What's wrong with me?

"Please."

I look back and instantly regret it. Huge blue eyes are staring at me, wide, full of tears, and shining with the barest glimpse of…hope? Does he think I'm going to save him?

Damn, kid, I can't even help myself.

"What are you looking at?" I bite out, my voice edging towards irked. My brain hurts, I'm dirty, and I really don't feel like doing this right now.

What the fuck are you doing, Brad!

"_G-gaijin_?"

I sigh.

Great.

"Schuldig." I repeat it slowly, wanting to get it through to the kid. I hate the word. In fact, I'd probably cut out anyone's tongue if _they_ were to call _me_ that.

"Shhu-" I have to give him credit for trying. I doubt it's easy to speak when you're in the state he is. Besides, to him, my name's utterly foreign. I reach out and pat him oh-so-gently.

"Close enough," I mumble, pulling my hand back. "Schu."

"Shu-" Another one of those invisible forces is immediately clutching at my fingers, tightening, and I fall forward, barely able to catch myself on the arm of the couch before crushing him.

"Hey!"

I hear the familiar sound of sobbing. I try wiggling loose, but the kid's got a damn good grip on me, and…it's crushing my hand!

"Damn brat! Let go!" I balance myself and wrap my other hand around my wrist, pulling. The pressure increases, grinding bone and flattening tendon. "Oww! Kid…" I grit my teeth, rather helpless even as I try to free myself with more strength. It doesn't work, and it's not until someone says my name that the tension completely disintegrates, sending me sprawling on my back. I'm not even worried when I feel my skull cracking against the floor. When I look at them, my fingers are white from lack of blood, and my wrist looks like it's starting to bruise.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"What are you doing?" Brad's voice is sharp and causes my ears to ring. I look up at him and glare, still cradling my arm.

"Bastard!" I yell, trying to get to my feet. I don't want to be here, anymore. Not in this room. Not with _him_. Not in this fucking apartment. "Thanks for caring!" The sarcasm is thick, and I stumble past him, purposely knocking into him. However, I lose my balance and fall. To be honest, I expect him to let me go down, but he doesn't. He uses the arm that isn't occupied with the box to catch me, pulling me close and flush against him.

"Watch what you're doing," he commands softly, his face turning so he can look at me directly. He's always had a habit of that -looking people in the eyes- and for once, I'm not upset by it.

I think I blush. God only knows **why**. I suppose anyone would have, being as close to him as I am. Behind his glasses, those eyes are unreadable, expressionless, and I can't help staring.

Orgasmic chocolate.

God, Brad…

"**Stop **projecting." There's a pause, and I'm willing to bet my life my face is almost the color of my hair. I really don't understand _why_.

It's not like he doesn't know.

"He's telekinetic."

I blink back into reality at the words. Telekinetic? As in 'move things with your mind' telekinetic?

"Yes. That telekinetic. I said to stop projecting." He gives the command a distinct quality of authority. I shiver, and I _know_ he feels it because he's still holding me. Brad pushes me away when he realizes this, and I bite my lip, unable to stop a quiet moan of pain from sounding.

I hold my hand, wanting it to stop throbbing. I feel his eyes on me and look up.

"First him and then you," he states with purpose, leaving me for the kid lying limply on the sofa. I can't blame him. Our Fourth is practically bleeding to death. I'll live.

For now.

I watch him from across the room, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of my head that's pleading for me to say something, but I know what it does not.

Brad's truly married to his work, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

* * *

Brad couldn't do much for the little, blue-eyed brat. His injuries were more serious than he'd originally thought, and he'd had to call an actual doctor.

I laugh at the memory, picturing Brad's face as he told the man to fix him and leave. There was no hesitation in his voice. I guess he really _doesn't_ like anyone in the apartment other than Schwarz.

I snicker once more and look around. I'm now sitting in his room, bouncing repeatedly on the mattress. I'm waiting for him to return from the bathroom with the box he'd used on our Fourth. My wrist still hurts, and the bandaged contraption Brad used is falling off. I think it's broken, but Brad tells me not to exaggerate.

Me? Not exaggerate? What planet is he living on?

I bounce once more and give up on my game, completely bored. Farf is locked away for the night, and the kid is recovering in my room. We didn't have anywhere else to put him. The apartment is rather small, but it's big enough for three. Now, with four, it isn't so easy.

"What are you doing?" I turn my head and smile cheekily at the man standing on the other side of the bed. He's still clad in those typical dress slacks and white shirt, and I can't help admiring before shifting to face him. He always looks too good for words in that inhibiting outfit.

"Waiting," I answer, smiling broadly as he takes a seat rather close to me.

"Give me your arm." I do as he asks, watching as he takes the half-unwound bandage completely off. My fingers are a little swollen, and a nice purple bruise graces my wrist. Beautiful. Another color to add to the ones I already have.

"I'm a fucking rainbow," I mutter, mostly to myself to distract me from the slight ebbing as he carefully turns it over and inspects it with long, deft fingers. They slide over the puffy skin, and I hiss.

"At least he didn't break it," Brad determines after a moment of torturous strokes. I want to glare at him, but for some reason, I can't seem to focus.

"It's going to be a bitch to use," I answer, pretending that my mind is thinking of my…impairment and **not** him.

_Please hurry_, I tell myself. My body doesn't seem to care that it's hurt anymore because it's liking what Brad's doing to it even more.

Shit!

"Got something better to do?" he asks, expertly flipping the lid of the kit open with one hand and withdrawing some gauze as he holds my wrist steady with his other. I wince.

"I was projecting, again, wasn't I?"

He nods and proceeds to start wrapping, using the splint he'd applied earlier to keep it straight.

"I was going to ask you…"

Brad stops and looks at me. I look at him, curious, tempted to reach over and kiss that thinned mouth senseless, but I don't. I play with the blanket instead, picking at it.

"What?"

"You've been acting-" He cuts himself off again, and I really don't know what he's thinking. I'm terrible at guessing when I can't read someone's mind.

"Well?"

Suddenly, almost on impulse it seems, he moves ever closer, a hand reaching up to cup my jaw. I blink at him, surprised, scared, and just a little too excited.

"You know, Schuldig…"

My breath catches in my throat, and the words are hard to force out.

"What's that?"

"You've always been a little too clumsy for your own good."

Then, he kisses me.

**End** _Young Blue Eyes_

* * *

A/N: You have permission to kill me. XD 


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